The Cup of Kindness
by riversidewren
Summary: "Too bad you don't have the same power over me," she says, slanting a look at him. His hands grip the steering wheel just a little harder, but he keeps his voice level. "Is that what you think? We'll see about that." A slight follow-on from my modern Christmas AU (Caroling, Caroling). The Milathos ship is at sail.
1. Chapter 1

**For auld lang syne, my jo,**  
 **for auld lang syne,**  
 **we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,**  
 **for auld lang syne.***

 **Robert Burns**

* * *

 **CHAPTER I**

The snow is falling at a slow, but steady, pace as Athos pilots his Subaru Outback along Route 93. He is hoping the weather will cooperate long enough for them to get to the cabin before dark. The odds are against them. Their flight had arrived two hours late, and the traffic leaving Boston Logan had been a nightmare.

"I've missed this." Anne smiles at him, then leans her forehead against the window, watching the snow-covered evergreen trees whiz by.

"What? Watching me eat Chik-Fil-A?" He grins, and takes a bite out of his grilled chicken sandwich.

She laughs. "No, silly. I mean this." She waves her hand at the satellite radio, and the map spread open on her lap. "Miles Davis jazz—and your insistence on going old school with a map instead of using satellite navigation."

"We'll be fine as long as you keep your hand off the radio dial," he murmurs, giving her a teasing look.

Her eyes sparkles, and she dives for the control. A moment later, harpsichord music is sailing through the vehicle. The jarring notes are cut off abruptly, and her head swivels to meet his eyes.

His voice is smug. "Never mess with someone who has the steering wheel in hand. Ultimate control is just fingertips away."

"Too bad you don't have the same power over me," she says, slanting a look at him from under her long lashes.

His hands grip the steering wheel just a little harder, but he keeps his voice level. "Is that what you think?"

"I don't think, I know." Her voice practically vibrates with confidence.

"We'll see about that." His own tone shades into the lower register, and when he glances at her, she feels as if his magnetic blue eyes are undressing her.

"Maybe—" Anne pauses, and swallows. "Maybe we should just find a cozy bed and breakfast and stop for the night. I mean, the weather is so unpredictable right now-and it will be dark soon."

"If you want me, all you have to do is say so." He gazes straight ahead, but the grin on his face says it all. _The ball is in your court_.

Anne grits her teeth _. Damn him!_

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, trying to seem nonchalant. "Please! I think you're just a tad overconfident."

"Really? Fancy a wager?"

"What sort of wager?" she inquires cautiously.

His voice warms. "I bet you that if we take the exit for the next B&B-and I pull over and kiss you for a full sixty seconds—"

"Tongue or no tongue?" she counters.

"Either."

She thinks about it for an instant, then prods him to continue. "Okay. Go on—"

"I bet that you will refuse to go on further, and will beg me to book a room for the night."

Her mouth goes dry at the thought of being in his arms within thirty minutes, rather than three hours. "Done."

He smirks.

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?" he asks innocently.

"Stop acting like you know you're going to win!"

There is a moment of silence.

"So—" he drawls, glancing at her, "- how _should_ I act?"

She waves her hand impatiently. "Nervous—like you're not sure of the outcome."

His eyes flick to hers again. "But what if I _am_ sure of it?"

She makes a face at him. "I always said you would make a terrible actor. Prove me wrong."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, they check in to the Inn at Green Meadow Farm, and Anne can barely keep her hands off of him.

"You need to calm down," he murmurs, but grins nevertheless when she slips her arms around her waist.

"Honeymoon?"

Athos looks up at the middle-aged woman behind the reception desk, and tries to ignore the fact that Anne is untucking his flannel shirt from the waistband of his jeans. "A second honeymoon—of sorts." As she slips her hands under his shirt, slowly trailing her nails up his back, he inhales sharply.

The clerk smiles knowingly. "It's okay. We get a lot of newly married couples here." She leans over the desk, and lowers her voice confidentially. "The walls are well soundproofed, so no worries!"

"We _will_ get rose petals on the bed, won't we?" asks Athos, forcing himself to keep a straight face.

"Of course!" she exclaims. "Just give me five minutes." Coming out from behind the desk, she nods towards the small refrigerator in the corner. "The last honeymoon couple had a spat and left thirty minutes after they arrived. They left a bottle of Dom Perignon, so have at it."

Anne detaches herself just long enough to retrieve the bottle of champagne from the refrigerator, then grabs his hand. "Come on! Let's get the luggage!"

An amused look crosses his face. "Didn't you hear her? She needed five minutes. Whatever happened to delayed gratification?"

She hooks her thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans, and draws him to her. "Athos, we lost five years. Five years over something—" Anne tries to continue, but words fail her. She bites her lip, looking away.

"Hey, don't cry on me." Athos' voice is soft as he wraps his arms around her. He feels so solid, so— _right_ —that she can barely stand it. "Look at me." The words are commanding, but there is an almost indescribable note in his voice that is pure, simple yearning.

When he uses that tone with her, she cannot help but comply. Her green eyes lift to his face, and he pauses, then lowers his voice to a whisper. "I never stopped loving you-never." His blue eyes are so magnetic, and his words so soothing—so reassuring—that she begins to cry in earnest.

She doesn't think it possible, but he draws her even closer, then bends to kiss her. As his lips meet hers, and his heart beats against her chest, she cannot help but think it.

 _I'm home_.

* * *

 ***Modern English translation.**

 **For times gone by, my dear**  
 **For times gone by,**  
 **We will take a cup of kindness yet**  
 **For times gone by.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER II**

When she wakes up the next morning, she feels a solid body curled up behind her, and for an instant, she freezes. Since she left Athos, she has made it a point to never spend the night with a man. It's too personal—she pauses and thinks— _too sacred_. An instant later, she realizes how laughable that word is coming from her brain—the elegant circuitboard of feminine neurons that has plotted out assassinations step-by-step—killings that were executed flawlessly. Just as easily, in fact, as some women— _normal_ women-plan their five-year-old's birthday party.

But this man has his arm around her, and she cannot imagine why she would have made an exception to her no-bedmate policy. Turning her head slightly to the side, she sees the face of the man she loves, and it all comes rushing back. The reason she left. The hurt she caused him. The reason she has come back now.

His face is relaxed in slumber. In fact, he looks impossibly boyish when a hint of a smile ripples across his handsome features. She tentatively places her palm on his chest, suddenly afraid that this is all a dream. It takes several cycles of his quiet, even breathing before she is convinced that he is real.

A few moments later, his eyes open. They are still hazy with sleep, and he blinks at the light streaming through the gap in the white lace curtain.

"Good morning," she whispers, taken aback by of the rush of happiness that surges into her heart. _This is too much, too soon_ , the insistent little voice inside her brain tells her. _You need to protect yourself. Take it slow._

The voice is annoying. It reminds her of her Great-Aunt Fernia, who would never let her cross the street by herself until she was fourteen. _It's a little late for caution now_ , she thinks wryly.

There is a large, plump featherbed completely covering them.

They are completely naked underneath it.

His hand covers the slim fingers resting on his chest. "You can't keep your hands off me, can you?" he murmurs, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that little half-smile that she loves so much.

"Guilty as charged." She snuggles against his shoulder, and gives a little sigh. "I can't believe how wonderful this feels—it's like—" she stops.

She was about to say _like nothing ever happened_ , but is smart enough to realize that would be ridiculous. This is not a Lifetime movie, with music surging as they vow to never let the forces of evil part them again.

In fact, it is far from it.

She feels his body tense underneath her, and curses herself for having opened up Pandora's box.

"We did promise we'd wait until we had a full 24 hours at the cabin before tackling the past, didn't we?" he asks. The smooth muscles of his abdomen are rigid under the hand she slides down his chest.

"So we did," she whispers. Her eyes slide to meet his. "I give you my word it won't happen again."

"And you think your words atone for your actions?" The warm, charismatic tone he uses drains all of the anxiety out of her body in an instant. The long dormant rhythms of their verbal repartee are slowly coming to life.

"Do they not?" she asked innocently.

Athos gives her a long, smoldering look, then rolls on top of her. "I think not," he murmurs. "In my view, it is necessary for you to have a suitable punishment meted out."

"What sort of punishment?" She is staring into the fathomless depths of his eyes, and realizes that his magnetism is breaking down all the defences she has so carefully constructed.

A moment later, his lips begin to burn a slow path down the soft skin of her neck, and she gasps.

"It will be very intense, and will likely involve forced confinement."

"Solitary?"

A low laugh, somewhat akin to a growl, comes out of the back of his throat. "Definitely not. You will be under the care of a very formidable jailer. A man who is not easily moved by tears, or liable to be swayed by feminine charms."

"Perhaps it is best I be told what to expect. I shall need some time to steel myself for what lies ahead."

He draws back, and gazes down at her. "You will be kept under lock and key in a small cabin located in the northeast corner of New Hampshire. Your jailer will by your side every moment. He will expect you to play Scrabble—no cheating or arguing will be tolerated-and to watch classic Western films with him. No disparaging comments will be allowed. In short, you will be expected to share everything with him."

Her eyes widen in mock horror. "Everything? Surely not my bed?"

" _Especially_ your bed," he mutters. "And your body."

xxx

They linger over the sumptuous three course breakfast, then get back on the road. After another two hours, they stop at a grocery store. Athos grabs a cart and immediately heads for the fresh fish counter. "I'm cooking tonight," he announces.

"Fine with me," Anne replies with a smile. "You always were better in the kitchen than me."

A slow grin spreads across his face, and he stops in the center of the aisle. "I seem to recall several times that you were very, very good in the kitchen."

Her hands settle at his waist, and she tilts her face up to his. "Ah, but my expertise was not in meal preparation."

"But you made the chef very happy." He touches his lips to hers, meaning to give her just a quick kiss. However, when Anne nestles against him, he finds it impossible to stop. All that his brain can focus on is how very soft and warm her sweet mouth is.

The spell is broken when a small boy yells out, " _Ewww_! Mom, that man and woman won't stop kissing! That is _gross_!"

Faces flushed, they separate, and Anne scurries off to pick up some baked goods. When they check out, Athos begins to unload the cart. Anne rushes up and slips in an armful of items.

He glances at her disapprovingly. " _Really_?"

"What?!"

"Gummi bears. Cheetos. Diet Coke!? It's like the tripod of death."

"Athos, please! It's just a little bit of—self-soothing. That's all!"

"You should treat your body like a temple. That's all I'm saying." He tosses a bag of organic almonds and some blood oranges on to the conveyor belt.

She shoots him a seductive look. "You seem to have no problem recognizing my body as an object worthy of worship."

He locks eyes with her for just an instant, then shakes his head slightly, and chuckles. "Just wait until we get to the cabin."

* * *

 **Happy 2016 to my readers!**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER III**

Thirty minutes later, they pull into the long, curving driveway that leads to the cabin.

The yard is blanketed in snow, and icicles are hanging from the gutters. The white surface of the lawn is unmarred except for the tiny tracks of birds. The delicate marks crisscross the frozen expanse, documenting the feathered creatures' desperate search for nourishment.

"Thank God for four-wheel drive," murmurs Anne.

"Told you." His face is smug. She hates the fact that she finds his expression adorable, and rolls her eyes. "Why must you always be so superior?"

"Because you love it when I act like that." He grins, then exits the car and starts to unpack the trunk. After unloading extra blankets and food, he pulls out a bag that is filled with athletic gear. He frowns. "Why are there ice skates in here? And snowshoes?"

She laughs. "What do you think they're for? We have a winter wonderland just a few feet away!" Turning, she goes to retrieve her phone from the front seat. She has forgotten how quick his reflexes are. Within three seconds, he has her pressed against his body. His breath steams in the cold afternoon air when he looks down at her, and his voice is thick with desire. "I thought we weren't going to be leaving the bed, much less the cabin."

"Athos, we always had our best discussions when we were out in the middle of nowhere—hiking, or skating, or rock climbing."

"Maybe you thought they were our best interactions." His eyes light up with amusement. "I always preferred the parleys conducted in bed."

"Those _were_ always memorable, but if we really want to try to work things out-" She leaves the sentence hanging, and he immediately understands.

"You're right." Athos sighs. All of a sudden, he looks ten years older. "I shouldn't be making light of the situation. I'm sorry."

She impulsively stands on her tiptoes and kisses him. "Save the serious stuff for tomorrow. Right now, we're burnin' daylight."

A slow smile spreads across his face. "You can still quote John Wayne."

"How could I forget? You must have forced me to watch "The Cowboys" at least five times. I vote we play Scrabble first before I am forced to spend another two hours with the Duke."

He hands her a bag of groceries. "Deal."

Ten minutes _later,_ there is a fire roaring in the massive stone fireplace. Anne opens a bottle of chardonnay, and pours them each a glass. As she hands Athos his drink, he raises his glass. "I propose a toast. _Come live with me, and be my love_ —"

Her eyes soften, and she murmurs, " _And we will all the pleasures prove-_ "

He leans in, so close that she can almost touch his lips with her own. _"That hills and valleys, dale and field—"_

" _And all the craggy mountains yield_ ," she breathes. "Christopher Marlowe. You remember."

The kiss he gives her is sweet, and his face turns just the slightest shade of pink. "How could I forget? Our honeymoon in Scotland was—quite memorable. I think we covered all of those topographical features during our intimate moments."

She begins to laugh. "Remember that Hebridean sheep that wouldn't stop baaing? It sort of ruined the moment."

"A mere distraction." He winks at her, then heads for the kitchen. Within ten minutes, the smell of onions and shallots sautéing in olive oil fills the air.

"Can you please open up the cans of tomatoes and tomato paste?"

She slants a look at him. "I happen to have a special certification in the operation of can openers."

"Keep it along with your license to carry, do you?" He means to tease, but Anne stiffens, and he realizes he has gone too far.

She bites her lip, and puts the can down.

He leans against the stove, feeling conflicted. He wants to put his arms around her, but also senses she needs space. "I'm sorry. I was trying to be clever, and that comment just-wasn't."

"I can't help who I was—am." She corrects herself, then looks up to see his reaction.

"But I thought—when you showed up for the state inspection—"

She sees that he is confused, and hurt. _God, I don't want to get into this tonight…can we just have one night where we get to be a normal couple?_

"It was a cover." Her voice is flat.

"But what could you have possibly—" He checks himself with a bitter laugh. "Oh, right. I forgot how this goes. You can't tell me, or you'll have to kill me. Top secret CIA stuff." Turning back to the stove, he slowly pours the fish stock into the large soup pot. "You know, sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to be married to someone who was just what she said she was-a teacher, maybe—or an artist. Someone who didn't lead a double life."

Her head snaps up. "I can't help it! It's my job, Athos! I don't know how to be anything else!"

"That's what you tell yourself." The white wine joins the fish stock in the pot, and he reaches for the can of tomatoes, which is still unopened.

She stays his hand. "Please, Athos-not tonight. I can't do this tonight. I just want one night where we are a normal couple—having dinner and-I don't know, arguing about the best oysters on the east coast-or some normal topic!"

"Everyone knows Natick oysters are the best," Athos says, sliding a hand to her waist. He is eager to pull back from the precipice, and welcomes a distraction.

"Wellfleet," she murmurs, then sighs. "How is it that your voice can make oysters sound sexy?"

"It's a gift." He draws her to him, and gazes down at her, his deep blue eyes earnest. "No more talk about work or events from years ago. Not tonight. I promise." When he kisses her, she sags against him, grateful that they have managed to avoid the land mines of their past—at least for now.

* * *

 **I didn't think it possible to have a completely conflict-free start to the evening, hence this chapter. More to unfold in the next-thank you for reading, and for the reviews and favorites. Thay are much appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER IV**

With the first sip of the _cioppino_ that Athos has prepared, Anne sighs in bliss. "You are truly a Renaissance man. This fish stew is to die for."

He leans back in his chair, his thumb rubbing the stem of his wine glass. His eyes meet hers. "I hardly think I qualify."

"I would have to disagree." She takes a sip from her own glass. "You are a highly regarded district attorney in a large city, so your intellectual ability is clearly superior. You run triathlons in your spare time, so you have the ability to meet physical standards that are even more exacting than mine." She gazes up at him through her long, dark lashes, and his heart skips a beat. "And I know how well you play the trumpet, so don't even try to tell me that you have no talent in the arts. That just leaves social abilities."

"Which I so clearly lack, by anyone's definition."

"That would depend on the measures used," she counters. "Here, I'll google _Renaissance man_." A moment later, she begins to read from her phone. _A well-adjusted social life is perhaps the most important factor for a man to maintain his personal sanity and mental health. Not to mention the fact that strong interpersonal skills make a man an appealing candidate for both friendship and relationship._ "

He laughs. "No one will ever accuse me of having a well-adjusted social life…or personal sanity...or mental health, for that matter."

"I have seen you demonstrate strong interpersonal skills," she counters.

"Give me an example, then." He crosses his arms, and raises an eyebrow.

She tries to keep a straight face. "Well, last night, for instance."

"I think you are wandering into the physical realm," his voice drops into a smoother, richer, octave, and he sees her eyes sparkle in response.

 _God help me._

She continues to read." _A man's social life begins with his own personality, an area that demands a great deal of attention and introspection_." Looking up, she says dryly, "I think you have mastered the art of introspection, so ignore that last part. But wait—there's more. _You must recognize what you have to offer to others and constantly work to increase your contribution. Hone your listening skills, for everyone wants to be heard. Become a strong conversationalist_.'"

He groans. "I have to constantly work at enough things already. Everyone who knows me already knows what I have to offer."

"I hope _all_ of them don't," she replies, casting him a seductive look. "I like to think that there are some things that only I know about you."

"Such as?"

She takes another sip of wine, and licks a stray drop from the rim of her glass. "Such as the fact that you hate football—American football, that is—and you adore hockey. You despise crepes, but can't get enough of oysters—or pot roast. Specifically, ginger and orange-glazed pot roast. You do not like to be kissed on the neck, but if I kiss you just under your collarbone, it drives you insane." Sitting back, she gives him a sweet smile. "Am I right?"

"You are." He drains the rest of his glass, then refills it. "Now it's my turn. You hate tennis, but you were—are—a badass field hockey player. As we saw at the grocery store today, you despise junk food, but you can't get enough of avocados—or those weird dried berries. What do you call them?"

"Goji berries. And they are not weird. They are packed with antioxidants."

"So they say." He grins, knowing this will annoy her immensely. "And if I kiss you on the knee, you will kick me. But if I kiss you on the medial surface of your left thigh…"

"It ruins it when you use medical lingo!" She scolds him, but her eyes are dancing. "I don't quite recall what my reaction is when you kiss that spot. Perhaps we should experiment."

"Now, or after dessert?"

"Do they have to be exclusive of one another?"

His eyes widen slightly, then he rises from his chair. "I suppose not. Why not make the most of our time here by multi-tasking?"

"You always were the model of organization," she murmurs. He stands behind her and begins to massage her shoulders. His warm hands are very gentle. "Why don't we take a walk first? I bet the lake is beautiful tonight. There's supposed to be a full moon."

She arches her back, all the tension in her body melting under his ministrations. "That sounds wonderful."

"We can bring our skates. I still have a pair here."

"Really?" Her face lights up like a small child's, and Athos is suddenly very glad he made the suggestion.

"Of course. Why not?"

"I just don't recall you ever being so spontaneous."

"Perhaps I've grown." He pulls her to her feet, and wraps his arms around her. "Chalk it up to me recognizing what I have to offer to others."

"I'm buying whatever you're selling," she murmurs, and touches her lips to his.

In an instant, he deepens the kiss, and her breathing quickens.

"Why do you insist on doing this to me?" she gasps.

"Because I enjoy it—and when I see that you want me as much as I want you—I just can't-"

Her hands slide to his waist, and she pulls the shirt out of his jeans.

"Take it off—please." Her voice is low and desperate.

"Why don't you do it for me?"

His eyes are burning into hers, challenging her to play along.

"As you wish." She releases the top button of his shirt, and her lips brand the smooth skin of his chest.

"You're doing very well. Keep going."

His eyes are closed now, and he has his hands on her shoulders.

She unbuttons another button, and her mouth traces the tuft of hair that trails down the center of his chest.

He takes in a breath, and releases it slowly. "God, how I've missed you."

Within a minute, his shirt is off. Her fingers trace a lazy figure eight along his sternum, and he tenses.

"Take me to bed, Athos."

The tone of her voice is not commanding, but pleading.

"And what would you have me do to you?"

His breath is warm on her neck, and his hands are quickly releasing her from the confines of her own shirt.

"Whatever you want," she breathes.

* * *

 **There was a bit of an unanticipated detour here...but we'll get there eventually! ;-)**


End file.
